


Tumblr Prompts - Fae Tales

by not_poignant



Series: The Fae Tales Verse - canon extras [6]
Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Banter, Crying, Domesticity, F/F, Fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Laughter, M/M, PTSD, mentions of BDSM, so many libraries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fae Tales prompts collated off Tumblr, that are all canon. :) </p>
<p>1) Augus/Gwyn - Augus and Gwyn go grocery shopping. With Ash and Gulvi. It's not...*not* a complete disaster.<br/>2) Augus/Gwyn - kissing.<br/>3) Gulvi/Fenwrel - also kissing.<br/>4) Augus/Gwyn - Augus finds some pornographic illustrations and decides to share.<br/>5) Gulvi + Gwyn - The brotp is way too drunk.<br/>6) Augus/Gwyn - Wearing each other's clothing.<br/>7) Augus/Gwyn - Gwyn spots Augus crying.<br/>8) Augus + Ash - Augus reads to Ash<br/>9) Augus/Gwyn - holding hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Augus is Not Amused.

**Author's Note:**

> Augus, Gwyn, Ash and Gulvi really...shouldn't go shopping in the human realm together.

‘You like lettuce,’ Gwyn said, pointing at the rows of the stuff. Not just green kinds, but also purple and a pale yellow. Augus wrinkled his nose and then turned it up and folded his arms.

‘Not _this_ lettuce.’ 

‘It’s just _lettuce_ , Augus,’ Gwyn said. 

The human realm shopping centre was mostly deserted. It was late on a Friday evening, and Ash had decided to take all of them out on an ‘adventure.’ It turned out the adventure was only Ash needing to stock up on packets of things that sealed away whatever food was inside. Gwyn was determined to get Augus to buy something. Just _one_ thing. His hatred for humans went beyond mere fae disdain into the absurd. 

‘The plastic doesn’t even smell so bad over here,’ Gwyn said, pointing to some carrots. 

‘Carrots are too sweet,’ Augus said, drifting away towards aisles of bread. Gwyn followed, and then tensed when heard a clattering rumbling noise thundering towards them. He turned, his whole body going into a defensive posture, only to see Ash pushing a metal trolley as fast as he could, while Gulvi was standing inside it with her arms out and her feather cloak pinned tight around her neck. She was laughing, and Ash had a look of fervent excitement on his face, his cheeks flushed.

As soon as they disappeared around a corner, approximately three staff in dark green uniforms belted after them, looking annoyed. 

Gwyn wondered if he’d have more fun in the trolley. 

He heard Ash whooping nearby, and then the almighty crash of items falling, followed by: 

‘Oops! Sorry, sorry! Sorry! I’ll pay for it.’ 

Followed by mutual laughter from Gulvi and Ash both, and then what distinctly felt like the entire shopping centre being saturated in a thick, honey-gold glamour. Augus made a sound of disgust from nearby, but when Gwyn looked over, the corners of his lips were tight and there was a faint sparkle in his eyes. 

Well, if Gwyn couldn’t get him to find something to purchase in a human store, there were other things he could do to help Augus feel a bit more well-disposed towards such places. 

Gwyn walked over to him, bent his legs slightly so he could knock his good shoulder into Augus’ arm. 

‘And what do you think you’re doing?’ Augus said drily, looking up at him at the same moment that Gwyn leaned in. 

Their noses bumped, and Augus huffed a sound of impatience and faint good humour and Gwyn was smiling too much to kiss him properly. 

‘The lights are giving me a headache,’ Augus said against Gwyn’s skin. 

‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Gwyn said, bunting his nose against Augus’ sharp cheekbone, and then carefully – _carefully_ , because he still wasn’t used to this yet – he placed his fingers on Augus’ upper arm and waited. He had to wait, to see if Augus would step away, to see if this was a dream he’d wake up from. Not that he ever dreamed anything quite like this – but there was a first time for everything. 

Augus’ body turned to him like the tendril of a vine seeking the sun. He sighed out a long breath that smelled faintly bitter and that Gwyn’s mouth wanted to taste. When their lips met, it was Gwyn who went still and Augus who took Gwyn’s lips between his and licked across them at the same time. Gwyn’s fingers dug into Augus’ shirt, a handful of fabric resting against his palm and he was clinging and he knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go, either. 

The kiss dragged on, Augus gently walking Gwyn backwards until his back was against hard metal shelves and soft crinkling plastic protecting loaves of bread. 

A hand now resting on Gwyn’s cheek, a thumb resting at the corner of his mouth, and the four other fingers stroking over and over again, as Augus tilted his head and fit their noses snug together and kissed him deeply enough that Gwyn forgot about the blaze of fluorescent lights and the smell of plastic and the laminate beneath his feet. The bitterness of Augus’ breath had disappeared, neutralising into something that hinted of spring water, and Gwyn leaned into him as Augus pushed his chest against Gwyn’s and kept him back against the shelving. 

‘How’s that?’ Augus said, pressing a tiny, chaste kiss to the middle of Gwyn’s lower lip. ‘For a sense of adventure?’ 

‘Uh,’ Gwyn said, clearing his throat. ‘I don’t know, perhaps you could-’

Augus bit at Gwyn’s lip hard enough to make him flinch, and then slid his tongue deep inside Gwyn’s mouth, his lips still canting up into a smile. Augus’ other hand slid around the back of Gwyn’s neck, thumb tracing where Gwyn’s metal collar often rested. And that sent a shudder of shivery-soft sweetness through his body, and he went lax against the shelves and made a tiny sound, opening his mouth wider to Augus’ explorations, both of his hands finding Augus’ sides and resting there, a pretence at touch instead of hanging on for support. 

A loud wolf whistle pierced the air and they broke apart – Gwyn startled, and Augus stepping back smoothly. 

Gulvi, standing with thumb and index finger between her mouth, eyes twinkling. 

And beside her – Gwyn’s cheeks burning to see him – Ash standing and staring at them both, in the middle of laughing silently. Then he took a breath and pointed at them.

‘Woo _hoo!_ Get some, Augus!’ 

Gwyn still wasn’t used to this development, and he turned away, pretending that tiny dinner rolls were fascinating. 

‘I did, thank you,’ Augus said. ‘Now if you’re quite done destroying this place, can we leave? I’m not done adventuring.’ 

‘Subtle,’ Ash said, snorting. ‘Very subtle. Was that meant to be subtext?’ 

‘Can we just _go?’_ Gwyn said, and then without waiting for their response, he grasped Augus’ arm and teleported them away. 

They reappeared in the Unseelie Court, the zahakhar as welcoming around him as Augus’ mouth was on his lips.


	2. Welcome Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really like writing kissing, apparently. Also, this is set during _Game Theory_ \- a random scene some time in the last half of the book, when they were more companionable.

Augus pulled up one of the other chairs near Gwyn’s accounts desk. He sat, watching Gwyn work on the accounts, bored at the numbers, the quiet intensity with which Gwyn worked. Gwyn had this habit of working for hours without stopping, his mind relentless and busy, hunched over documents and notations and receipts.

‘You’re meant to have a treasurer to this for you,’ Augus said blandly.

'I prefer to do it myself,’ Gwyn said quietly. He didn’t look up, he didn’t miss a beat in his writings, labelling out each number with a precise and fast calligraphy that belied its beauty.

'I’m aware that you brought me up into the Seelie Court proper in order to compensate some defect in your conscience - such as _having_ one - but it’s still remarkably boring up here. You didn’t go out of your way to make this an enriching place.’

'There are books,’ Gwyn said.

Augus made a faint noise of disgust under his breath. This wasn’t working. The books were fine. Exploring was fine. Raiding the kitchens and demanding impossible ingredients from the trows just to see if they could do it…

_Admit it, that is quite entertaining._

Augus inched his chair closer, until his knees bumped rudely into Gwyn’s thighs and Gwyn’s wrist slipped, a smudge of ink appearing on a ledger. Gwyn stilled, Augus watched a muscle in the corner of his jaw tense.

_Now we’re getting somewhere._

'Look at me,’ Augus said.

'I would like to _work.’_

'I would like you to kiss me,’ Augus smirked. 'I highly recommend indulging my whims.’

'You’re not King anymore, Augus, you don’t get to simply do wh-’

Augus slid one hand possessively inside Gwyn’s thigh, gripping the muscle he found, pulling his leg open. Gwyn’s hand tensed where it held the fountain pen, and then he placed it down precisely. Augus thought there was something delicious in the way he hesitated after that. So much for the carnal beast from the cells. This Gwyn was far more intriguing.

'Kiss me,’ Augus said again, digging his claw-tips in slightly. 'Sweetness.’

Gwyn made a small choked noise, looked at Augus uncertainly. Augus only offered a half-smile, leaned forwards, made it easier. There were easy ways of alleviating boredom, and this was one of them.

He waited, counted the seconds. It was a full minute before Gwyn leaned towards him, and there was still a breathless pause of seconds before soft lips pressed against his. Gwyn shifted his face slightly until the angle was better, but he kept his lips closed, and he breathed shakily against Augus’ face. And Augus wanted to open his mouth, encourage Gwyn’s mouth to open, but this was such a novelty. He’d not met anyone who held onto this chaste, sensual kissing style. Who offered it with such delicacy.

Augus hummed and reached up, tugging on one of Gwyn’s curls, sliding his fingers into Gwyn’s hair so that his thumb rested behind his ear.

'Keep doing it,’ Augus insisted, as Gwyn went to stop. He moved his hand on the inside of Gwyn’s thigh, sliding it up and down, suggestive without being lewd. That could wait. He wanted this careful patient kissing instead.

Gwyn came back, kissed him again, and again. Minutes passed as Gwyn changed angles, as he held Augus’ bottom lip between his own, then his top. As time passed, he lost his hesitancy, and Augus was shocked when he felt a broad palm cup the back of his head. Gwyn was rarely forward unless he was somehow triggered into his older heartsongs or swamped with bloodlust and wrath. This was unusual. Augus hummed again, indicating that he approved, and a light touch became fingers moving into his hair, sliding over strands of waterweed.

At that, Augus shivered unconsciously. When Gwyn’s fingers stroked a particular strand, singling it out, he leaned forwards, his hand gripped harder. Gwyn had only ever used his waterweed against him. He’d pulled it out in the cell. It was hard to believe it was the same fae who was now touching it with such concerted care. It was almost annoying, except that Augus had received precious little touch like this, and he craved more of it.

Augus opened his mouth against Gwyn’s unconsciously, and Gwyn followed suit, and they both sighed when Augus licked his way into the wet heat that waited. He lingered, took his time, made every movement slow and thorough and in response Gwyn grasped at his scalp, then would seek out another strand of waterweed and stroke it where it met the top of Augus’ head.

It was, Augus realised, driving him to distraction.

Augus pulled away, pleased at how uneven Gwyn’s breath was. He shuddered when Gwyn’s other hand came up and smoothed over his upper arm.

'Augus, I-’

'Mm?’ Augus said, managing to not roll his eyes when he saw how hard Gwyn already was.

_It never takes much, and it never takes long. Honestly, every single time._

'Are you still bored?’ Gwyn said. He sounded hopeful. Augus leaned in and bit his lower lip.

_'Extremely,’_ Augus said as he withdrew again.

'The accounts can wait,’ Gwyn said.

'Of course they can, you’re the King. You can do what you like. Teleport us into your room, if you will.’

'Augus, I’m aware of what you just did.’

'Hm?’

'But…no matter.’

Gwyn leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss against Augus’ lips once more, teleporting them away.


	3. Basorexia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An overwhelming desire to kiss. I really rEALLY want to write more Fenwrel/Gulvi. O.O

Fenwrel handled the mortar and pestle with the ease long born of following in her grandmother’s footsteps when it came to herbal preparations. But unlike most of her family, she didn’t make the spice concoctions for culinary or medicinal purposes, but magical ones. 

Gulvi watched nearby, her head resting on her hand, leaning against the bench and looking bored. 

‘You didn’t have to stay,’ Fenwrel said. ‘But if you’re going to look idle, perhaps you can pass me the karuvapatta.’ 

‘You say that as though I have _any_ idea what that is,’ Gulvi said in that infuriating way she had of dismissing languages that weren’t the ones that she’d learned. Fenwrel arched a single brow, and Gulvi reached for the cinnamon bark and handed it over, smirking like she knew exactly how aggravating she was.

Fenwrel broke off some of the bark and sprinkled it in, smelling her fingers afterwards, loving the way the scent clung. The decisive spice reminded her of Gulvi in some ways – at least, reminded Fenwrel of her personality. For Gulvi’s scent was far fainter and milder, of swan musk and the simple bars of soap she used. Gulvi wasn’t prone to wearing perfumes, and she carried with her the scent of leather and recently oiled and polished knives. 

What had begun as weeks of argument had somehow evolved into this. Gulvi often entering Fenwrel’s rooms and then making herself comfortable, pretending that she had always done so. Every affronted reaction that Fenwrel had in response to Gulvi’s games only increased Gulvi’s pleasure, but Fenwrel had learned how to play _that_ game. Giving Gulvi no reaction at all would frustrate in turn. Together, they seemed to quietly bait each other into responses. 

Today, though, she was finding it hard to stay focused. 

‘This is a magical working,’ Fenwrel said, smiling down at it. ‘You’re distracting the power I’m pouring into it.’ 

‘Horror,’ Gulvi drawled, tilting her head and smiling up at Fenwrel, black eyes warmer than usual. 

_Very_ distracting. 

‘There are other kinds of magic, aren’t there?’ Gulvi said. ‘Ash talks about it, sometimes.’ 

‘What Ash knows about magic…actually, what _both_ of those brothers know about magic I could fit in that tiny measuring spoon over there.’ 

‘Kissing magic,’ Gulvi said, playing with the grambu until Fenwrel moved the seeds away from her, and Gulvi’s fingertips rested on Fenwrel’s filed mouse-claws. 

‘Is that so?’ Fenwrel said, turning her fingers until she could press her palm to Gulvi’s, and then slide her fingers down slowly, forgetting about the mortar and pestle and feeling the way Gulvi’s meridians sparked and leapt with life. She didn’t think she’d ever met someone who was as stable and vivid with energy at Gulvi’s age. The others in the palace, all so damaged, and Gulvi – despite her grief and fear – power _flowed_ through her. Honey sweet and lightning bright. 

‘Darling,’ Gulvi said, ‘I’ve come such a long way, haven’t I? Remember when I was scared of this?’ 

Gulvi still was. She’d given her heart to Ash, and they’d had vicious arguments – back and forth and filled with strong words – about Gulvi’s certainty that she couldn’t ever have a relationship with anyone else, and Fenwrel’s certainty that she was _wrong_. But Gulvi was also brave. In a way that the father of Fenwrel’s children hadn’t been. Fenwrel had never known she wanted someone so brave in her life. All these years, she’d been brave enough for everyone. Like her grandmother, they were their own pillars of strength.

It was refreshing to know that Gulvi didn’t need Fenwrel’s strength. She had plenty enough of her own.

‘When were you ever scared?’ Fenwrel said playfully, stroking her fingers across Gulvi’s palm and watching the way her eyes became lidded, her head moving just enough that she could watch their hands amongst the herbs. 

‘I believe in magic,’ Gulvi said, her wings shifting carefully, helplessly. She had enough control over them to make sure she didn’t blow dried herbs away, but not enough to stop the shift that meant she was warm with want. ‘A different kind of magic to yours.’ 

‘Swan magic,’ Fenwrel said. 

Gulvi pushed up off the bench and didn’t stretch out to her full height, her head never clearing Fenwrel’s, face close enough that Fenwrel had to pick one eye to stare at, because she couldn’t stare at both at the same time. 

‘Kissing magic,’ Gulvi said, smiling. 

Fenwrel left the pestle in the mortar and raised her spice-touched fingers, stroking along the soft underside of Gulvi’s chin, her other hand keeping Gulvi’s pressed to the table. 

Gulvi’s lips were wet only because she’d nervously licked them, and Fenwrel tasted salvitulasi – sage – and laughed into Gulvi’s mouth, because she was _stealing_ herbs and eating them when Fenwrel wasn’t looking. 

Fenwrel wondered how others dealt with it, kissing without constantly being aware of the meridians of energy, the _loss_ that they weren’t even aware they were missing. Because in the moment that her lips touched Gulvi’s, their meridians met, and Fenwrel was able to sip at that sparking bright swan-energy even as she could press her lips to Gulvi’s and ask permission to move deeper, Gulvi granting it after several seconds of playing at not being interested. 

A soft, hitched sound from Gulvi when Fenwrel’s tongue slipped inside – another of her secrets; that her rich, even abrasive voice, could turn so tender in a matter of seconds. 

Gulvi smiled as she leaned back, but her eyes were sad, and Fenwrel was growing used to this too. She lifted her hand and thumbed the lines around Gulvi’s eyes. 

‘It’s enough, isn’t it?’ Fenwrel said. ‘I don’t need to own your heart, Gulvi. You owe me nothing.’ 

‘I _know_ that,’ Gulvi said, settling back on the stool and licking at her lips pensively. ‘I know that.’

Gulvi would perhaps always struggle with having feelings for someone other than Ash. It wasn’t that she felt like she was betraying him – they’d talked about that, and as far as Fenwrel knew, Ash had not only given them his blessing, but was actively, enthusiastically encouraging. It turned out that Ash believed the same as Fenwrel; that Gulvi was still capable of love. It may not be the core love that a swan maiden gives to a single other, but love existed all the same. 

Fenwrel would love no one else as she had loved her husband, and she would love no one else as she loved each of her children. She did not need what Gulvi had set aside for Ash. 

‘What you give me is enough,’ Fenwrel said, turning back to her mortar and pestle and sighing. ‘And now I’ll have to start over. That heartsong of yours is a menace.’ 

‘Darling, you love it,’ Gulvi said, a tentative smile, the cautious confidence of someone who had realised that Fenwrel _did_.


	4. Grapholagnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: 'The urge to stare at obscene pictures.'

Gwyn looked up when Augus walked into the room, carrying two heavy books with him. Gwyn assumed they were incredibly in depth logs on plants – Augus seemed to read an awful lot of those – and went back to mending some of the chainmail, opening and bending links back into place with pliers. It wasn’t exactly messy work, but it was fiddly, and perhaps he shouldn’t have done it on the bed where every one of the small rings could disappear; and had already. 

‘What a treasure trove these libraries are,’ Augus said, crawling onto the bed and bringing the books with him. Gwyn looked at him sidelong and shrugged. 

‘If you say,’ Gwyn said, running the chainmail over his fingers. ‘Don’t you ever get tired of reading about plants though?’ 

‘Indeed,’ Augus said, pushing into Gwyn’s space and dropping one of the books on his lap. It was heavy, and Gwyn began to push it away, and then saw the woodcut print on the cover and paused, staring at it. Augus was already kneeling over him, a proprietary hand on Gwyn’s shoulder, holding him in place. ‘Did you know that Zahak had some rather interesting…proclivities?’ 

‘Where did you find this?’ 

‘There’s _shelves_ of it,’ Augus said, his voice hushed and gleeful. ‘But I thought you might like these ones in particular.’ 

‘I…’ Gwyn looked up at Augus, tore his gaze away from the woodcut. He wanted to look, but… ‘I’m in the middle of-’

‘So,’ Augus said, opening the book and ignoring him, turning to a page that Gwyn tried not to look at. Tried not to see the exquisitely rendered full colour illustration, and one of the horned fae of Asar standing by a bound ljosalfar elf. Bound, bent over a…Gwyn couldn’t work out what it was – bleeding from multiple whip marks on his back and the horned fae looking as gleeful as the ljosalfar looked miserable. 

Beside it, on the other page, a list of remarks. What sort of whips to consider using for such effect. How many blows to land. Even the sort of salves that would be useful in healing the wounds faster. 

Gwyn stared a few seconds later, only then realising he’d given his full attention to the illustration. It probably didn’t help that both fae in the image were hard. 

‘This is barbaric,’ Gwyn said, but his voice was thicker than before. 

‘I _know_ ,’ Augus said, sounding like he’d been smiling for hours. ‘It gets better.’ 

Augus flicked the pages, Gwyn caught only glimpses of each image flicking past and realised that beneath the book and the chainmail, he may have been starting to get hard. Which was just…it was a _book_. 

Augus stopped on a particular illustration and pointed to some awful, obscene contraption attached to a fae hunched on his hands and knees. His balls drawn backwards into what looked like wooden stocks that hooked behind the upper back thighs. It didn’t look pleasant. Absurdly, each of the illustrations had been illustrated outside, during daylight, in what looked like friendly cottage gardens. 

There was that horned fae again, smirking over the hunched creature. 

‘What is that?’ Gwyn said, pointing to the contraption. 

‘A humbler,’ Augus said. ‘The design stops you from being able to stand up. See, if you stretch, the wood against the thighs draws your balls backwards, and it’s quite excruciating. I personally like how it leaves the poor creature open for whatever the other desires. You can’t do much more than crawl in one of those.’ 

‘Ah,’ Gwyn said, his voice cracking. 

It looked _horrible_. He absolutely wasn’t interested in trying it. 

His cock was so hard it hurt. But his balls ached even _thinking_ about it. His face was burning.

‘So…’ Gwyn said. 

‘You could possibly still work on tending that chainmail in a humbler. Though it may be…may just require some ingenuity.’ 

Gwyn made another hedging sound and Augus turned the page, squeezing Gwyn’s shoulder possessively. 

‘Let’s see how many more ideas this can give us, yes?’ 

Gwyn nodded, and then he reached out and stopped Augus from turning the pages so quickly – he was clearly only flicking to the things he wanted to do. 

‘Can we start from the beginning?’ Gwyn said. 

Augus smiled against Gwyn’s face. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’


	5. Best Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this was: 'accidentally falling asleep together.'

‘La! I refuse to believe it. You’re _cheating.’  
_

Gulvi tried to peer at Gwyn’s hand, then glared at him when he breasted his cards even closer and squinted at her. To deal with _that,_ she picked up her shot glass and realised it was empty. 

‘ _Garcon,’_ she snapped. 

Gwyn blinked sleepily at the shotglass and then realised what was wrong, fumbling with his cards for a moment as he reached for the bottle of liquor they’d been slowly mowing through for the evening. Ash had found it for her, and he was pretty much her procurer of mind-smashing bottles of alcohol. She wondered what he was doing, her heart always aware of him, even when the rest of her wasn’t.

To this day, it chafed at her that she’d think of Ash’s welfare before she’d think of Fenwrel’s - even if the daft mouse assured her that she was aware of it, and she didn’t mind. 

Gwyn filled her shotglass, and then took a long gulp directly from the neck of the bottle. He set the bottle down a little too heavily and then stared at his cards like he couldn’t quite tell what they were. 

‘One more round?’ he said, his voice blurry.

Augus had said that Gwyn was only allowed to get drunk around Gulvi, which Gulvi thought was _fantastic._ Because her comrade-in-arms might be risibly pathetic in every other area of his personal life, but he was a great drunk-buddy. As good as Ash, though in a vastly different way. 

‘Of drinks or cards, darling?’ 

‘Drunk cards,’ Gwyn said, and then grinned. ‘Or we could spar? Didn’t we…I seem to have a memory of us sparring drunk last time. Did we-’

‘I don’t know, Gwyn, I can’t seem to recall,’ Gulvi said, rolling her eyes. ‘I had to see Aleutia after that. Worth it. I imagine you just slept off your severed tendon or…whatever I’d done.’ 

‘Achilles’,’ Gwyn said, wincing. ‘No more drunk sparring for us.’

‘Not at least for another _year,’_ Gulvi purred.

Gwyn nodded sagely, raising his finger like he was going to say something, and then he proceeded to drop all of his cards. She got a good look at them as he scrambled his hand back together again. Damn it, he would probably win this round as well. The cards clearly favoured him. He was obviously some kind of disgustingly charmed creature. One of those fae that lived all the bad luck in the first years of their lives, only to come through shining and strong. 

‘Honestly,’ Gwyn said, clearing his throat and staring at the cards. ‘How are things with Fenwrel?’ 

Gulvi smiled and realised how sentimental it all was, and wondered what her mother would say to see her now, _domesticated_ , only to feel the sting - the lance through the heart of knowing her mother would never see any more of her achievements. Not a single one. 

She rubbed briefly at her chest, tried to remember the question. Yes, Fenwrel. 

‘She tries my patience,’ Gulvi said quietly, with a smile. 

_And I love it.  
_

_She tells me that she doesn’t need my whole heart because she has a whole one of her own._

_She cooks for me when I tell her I’m hungry, even though I’ve told her time and again I don’t need_ her _to cook for me.  
_

_She has this way when she leans in close, looking at me like I’m a fascinating enchantment and oh, what lovers I’ve had through the years, what friends and family, but none that have looked at me quite like_ that. 

‘Augus tries mine,’ Gwyn said, but the smile on his face reflected her own, and she brushed away the odd sensations that came from knowing that Augus gave Gwyn something… _true.  
_

Life was not supposed to be nearly so complicated as this, was it? 

She downed her shot and dropped her cards, waving her hand at the terrible game she’d managed to trap herself in. Gwyn was leaning closer, staring at the cards. Leaning even closer, tipped forwards with a sound of surprise, and then she had her arms out bracing his shoulders and laughing, because they were both so _drunk.  
_

He started laughing too, the sound hiccuping out of him, and then he tried to pull himself back and swayed. 

‘Fuck,’ he said, dropping his own cards and rubbing at his face. ‘Fuck me, what’s in that _drink?’  
_

_‘_ Potent, no?’ 

‘The room is doing that thing it does, you know, the twisting.’ 

‘Ah, comrade, not for me. Not yet.’ 

‘Then you clearly need more,’ Gwyn said, finding the bottle with one hand while his eyes were closed and thrusting it towards her. 

At some point as the night wore on, he ended up on his back and she slumped across his torso, her wings blanketing them both - splayed out with exhaustion. She kept thinking _hard_ over and over again, because Fenwrel was so very soft. The curve of her hip and belly, even her strong thighs and strong arms. So soft. 

Gwyn was not much for softness. 

‘Comrade,’ she whispered. 

‘You’re my very best friend,’ he said, his eyes closed, his voice gritty with tiredness. 

‘You’re like my…sixth or…seventh,’ Gulvi said, laughing at her own joke. 

Gwyn shoved her arm and then started laughing in that way that people did when they were too tired to put much energy into it. 

‘Really,’ Gulvi whispered, ‘if Ash is my annoying younger brother, than you are my annoying older one.’ 

The family she’d clawed back for herself, the ones that Augus couldn’t take away from her, because he loved them too. That was the trick of it, she realised, to love the people he loved, and then she would be safe. And so Augus loved Fenwrel and Gwyn and Ash, and Gulvi loved them too. In her own way. 

Everyone else, well, she would protect them as best she could. 

‘I’m having sad thoughts,’ she muttered, and then blinked once, slowly, when she felt a large, heavy hand touch the side of her face. It wasn’t clumsy at all. And, startled, she thought: _Soft.  
_

‘Give them to me,’ Gwyn said, his voice slurred. ‘I can carry all of your sad thoughts. And then you’ll only have good dreams.’ 

A few beats later his breathing went heavy and slow, and she settled closer, resting her head half on his chest and half on her arm. His hand relaxed by her face, fingers curling. 

She thought of Ash, and Fenwrel, and wrapped her wings softly about them both and slept, dreaming only good dreams.


	6. The Coat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: 'wearing each other's clothes.'

It was taking far too long to sort through the dusty annals of the Unseelie Court libraries. Gwyn suspected some of them hadn’t been looked after since before the reign of the Raven Prince, and in the end he’d called the rest of his Inner Court and the common fae servants on board to help him with the task. He would have enjoyed doing it all on his own, but he didn’t have time. 

Though the ‘help’ did come in the form of Ash and Gulvi getting drunk amongst stacks of books and spilling whiskey on priceless artefacts. Augus kept getting stuck amongst the books on herbal knowledge and silenced Gwyn with a look when Gwyn pointed that out. Fenwrel likewise got stuck amongst the books on magic, and silenced Gwyn with exactly the same expression. That was when he decided that Fenwrel and Augus were spending far too much time together.

Easy enough to work through the evenings, at least, even if it did leave him bleary-eyed and rubbing at his face clumsily in the mornings. 

Eventually he’d decided he’d had enough - for the day, anyway - and made his way back to his room. The Court was mostly silent, occasionally creaking or sighing as the old bones of the palace settled. 

He had no idea where Augus would be. It was probably too much to hope that he’d be resting in their room; likely back at his own house under the lake, or even out with other members of the Inner Court. 

So he pushed open the doors to their room without paying much attention. Only to be brought up short by the sight of Augus leaning back against the headboard, reading some ancient tome and wearing- 

Gwyn’s eyes widened. 

‘That’s my clothing,’ Gwyn said, staring at him. 

‘Is it?’ Augus said, without looking up. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

But he would have, Gwyn knew. He _would_ have. That cream peasant shirt against his flesh, the laces all undone, the fabric almost swimming on him. Gwyn was taller, broader - especially through the shoulders. And then over that, a coat that Gwyn had been gifted from the ljosalfar. It was a giant thing, lined with pale blue and cream fur on the inside, falling to Gwyn’s ankles, the outside a creamy embroidered leather that was soft to the touch. It was one of the fanciest items of travelling gear he wore, and it was so comfortable (and enchanted to protect, besides) that he wore it far more often than he should. 

‘I…’ Gwyn said, staring at him a bit longer. 

Augus wasn’t even wearing pants. But then Gwyn supposed he didn’t really _need_ them, with that coat. 

‘You’re wearing my clothing,’ Gwyn said again. 

Augus’ lips turned up and he closed his book, putting it down, finally looking up and stretching languidly. 

‘It smells like you,’ Augus said. Then his nose wrinkled. ‘It also smells like whatever four hundred tiny furred creatures had to die for the coat. But since you love hunting so much, that _also_ reminds me of you.’ 

Gwyn smiled haplessly, and then shook his head, crawling onto the bed. 

‘Well, I’d do the same with your clothing, but…’

‘Your shoulders would split the seams?’ Augus said. 

Gwyn laughed, because he’d _tried_ it once. Tried it when Augus was away on a diplomatic mission and Gwyn had ached for him, had tried to force on one of Augus’ form-fitting dark green shirts, and ended up clumsily fighting fabric in their wardrobe, making sounds of frustrationas he struggled _._ He hadn’t split the seams, not exactly, but well…the shirt didn’t _fit.  
_

‘I like this coat,’ Augus said, sinking into it, shifting so that his hands disappeared into the sleeves. 

‘Have you done this before?’ Gwyn said, tugging lightly on one of Augus’ toes. 

‘Mm,’ Augus said, not even abashed at being caught like this. ‘Not with this coat.’ 

‘Then what?’ 

‘You’ll just have to go through your wardrobe and find out, won’t you?’ 

Gwyn thought about what that might be like, looking for Augus’ scent, his heightened senses being able to ferret him out. And then he’d be able to wear the clothing that Augus wore, and it would smell like the both of them together. 

He lay on his side and poked the fleshy undersides of Augus’ toes idly, eyes roaming, enjoying seeing his own clothing on Augus’ body. 

‘I like it,’ Gwyn said finally, the words still feeling awkward on his tongue. Would he ever get used to declaring what he enjoyed with Augus? Would the fear that Augus would use those words to spite him ever truly go away? 

Gwyn had learned that his fears might be loud, but he didn’t always have to listen to them. 

‘Me too,’ Augus said, pushing the book further away and smiling, self-satisfaction writ large upon his features.

‘Next time you should try the pants,’ Gwyn said.

Augus laughed. 

‘Ah, well, I _have._ But they have this habit of falling straight off me. We can’t all have your thighs, you know. Besides, don’t get used to it. This pedestrian shirt shouldn’t be seen on royalty. Or any member of the Inner Court. You only get away with it because people expect it.’

Augus wriggled deeper into the coat and then wrapped it more completely around himself, fingertips poking out of the sleeves and brushing over the bespelled embroidery, red and blue and bright against his fingers. The gaze he directed at Gwyn was bright and content, an expression that Gwyn wanted to take up in his own tired hands and store somewhere, so he’d never lose it. 

‘It suits you,’ Gwyn said finally.

But he meant so much more than the clothing itself.


	7. Hauntings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: 'one spots the other crying.'

He had no real word for whatever crunching, oozing thing took up refuge in his chest sometimes. Only that he would wake on a morning that looked like any other and feel it beginning. He’d scratch at the Soulbond absently until he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be doing that anymore. He’d lose track of important conversations during diplomatic assignments and meetings, or worse, not catch a moment of tension before it spiralled sharply upwards into argument. 

It was disappointing really. He was a better adviser and diplomat immediately after the Nightingale had kept him captive. Now, years and years on, he was _worse._ It got to him _more.  
_

Some of it, he knew, was what Fenwrel called the healing of his meridians. It was an incomplete, clumsy process and it would never fully rid him of the underworld poisoning. Every now and then the moods would beset him and he’d see horrors in the shadows, his body would ache, he would avoid all others, cutting words sitting on the tip of a silent tongue. 

There were too many memories. He wondered if this was how Gwyn felt on his bad days. But no…Gwyn seemed to only see the worst of the memories, the ones thrown into sharpest relief. Everything else seemed to blur into the background of ‘childhood.’

For Augus, every memory seemed as bad as the last. Certainly, there were ones that did more damage to his psyche, but they all tumbled upon each other, until he felt like an animal stuck in a tar pit, doomed to be wrapped up in the thick ugliness of it, no respite on the horizon. 

He wasn’t sure he deserved any.

Another thing he contemplated in his darkest moments. The concept of deserving. He’d never really thought about it much before the Nightingale. But months of torture had turned Augus’ mind into one that echoed with thoughts of worth and deserving and shame and humiliation. 

He loathed it. That wasn’t who he was supposed to be. 

Now, at the end of a painfully long day, awaiting the dawn, he sat in the dark recesses of the Unseelie Court itself. Sat in a cavern deep underground, where plants blossomed on endlessly despite never seeing sunlight. The remnants of his old Kingly powers captured here. A moment of defeat in snapshot, to be replayed over and over. 

He was hiding. 

He hid here because even though this place was nothing but a bad memory, it was still better than the other memories that tried to push their way to the surface. It was sometimes easier to hide one pain in another. He knew very well - as a sadist, as a dominant, as someone who had simply lived in the world for so damned long - that if one pain got too overwhelming, another smaller pain could sometimes divert the mind. Confuse the senses. 

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. 

His eyes had started burning an hour ago. He’d leaned back against the wall and placed his wrists on his knees and stared out into the cavern and let them come. The tears. He was quiet about it. The Nightingale had taught him that much, hadn’t he? But he was a watery creature, and waters were supposed to be allowed to flow.

The worst part was the way his chest felt like it was splintering outwards, _opening._ He knew what that _actually_ felt like, and having some hideous echo of it claw through him - pretending to be grief or whatever nonsense it was…

He didn’t want to bear it, didn’t want to come through the other side and inevitably tell Fenwrel that it had happened again. Hated that she thought of it as progress, hated that when he wasn’t _in_ it, he sometimes thought that too. 

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t hear Gwyn’s footsteps down the stone staircase, until he heard a tentative: 

‘Augus?’ 

He had to smile then, something bitter and frustrated. He didn’t wish to burden them with something that came upon him really, quite regularly. It was- It was hard for him. It didn’t need be hard for anyone else. 

So he stared ahead, wrists still on his bent knees, back against the deep, unforgiving cold of the wall. The cavern was dark, but still not dark enough that he could pretend he was back there. Even so, his mind played tricks on him, whispered that slurchers hid in the black, waiting. 

Gwyn must have seen him, was walking towards him slowly, every step hesitant. 

‘You realise I come down here in order to _not_ be disturbed?’ Augus said, his voice wetter than usual, his throat hurting. 

Gwyn lowered himself by Augus’ side. Until his knees were also bent, and his back was pressing against the cold wall. Until their arms touched. 

He expected Gwyn to do what he feared - start offering inane comfort. But instead, Gwyn only sighed and looked ahead. He leaned into Augus’ side a bit harder than before. Enough that Augus had to lean back in order to prevent himself from being pushed sideways. 

Belatedly, he realised Gwyn may have done it on purpose. But it seemed far too sophisticated a thing for him. 

‘It’s just hard sometimes,’ Augus said, by way of explanation. ‘No one’s done anything to cause it.’

‘Someone has,’ Gwyn said, his voice echoing amongst the stone. ‘They’re just not here to be punished for it.’ 

‘I mean that no one has caused it _now,_ you need not blame yourself.’

‘I’m not,’ Gwyn said, and Augus could feel that unsettling blue gaze on his cheek. He knew Gwyn would see the gleaming trackmarks of tears. Knew - even as he blinked - that Gwyn would see more of them. 

‘So unlike you,’ Augus managed, wishing that the horrible churning in his chest would just _stop._ Everything hurt. It was like talking calmly while bleeding out from a wound. Then again, that was the kind of thing he would do. 

But he hated it so very much. Hated that he had to be like this. That it was the only way he knew how to survive it. 

‘I’m not going to tell you it’s okay,’ Gwyn said softly, and then he placed his hand over Augus’, and now Augus had two wrists resting on one knee, and he was becoming aware of all of Gwyn’s warmth. Then he realised how cold he’d let himself become down here in the dark. ‘I’m not going to tell you that. Unless you tell me you need to hear it.’

‘Not that,’ Augus said, grimacing. It was getting worse, not better. More tears, not _less._ He almost imagined his hair weeping less water to compensate for it. He reached up and smeared wetness all over his cheeks and jaw in trying to smear it away, then chuckled at how much of a mess he was making. ‘I cancelled a meeting today.’ 

‘Good,’ Gwyn said, sighing again. Then, he leaned his forehead gently against the side of Augus’ head and pressed his nose against Augus’ mane. ‘Oh, Augus.’ 

There was so much weight in those words. Augus couldn’t think of anything to say. So instead they remained there, leaning into each other. Augus sniffling every now and then, thinking he should have brought a handkerchief with him, and knowing Gwyn wouldn’t have one because he never did. 

After an hour, Augus leaned his head against Gwyn’s and kept his eyes closed, blocking out the cheerful flowers. Risked the shadows behind his eyelids and thought about how solid Gwyn was. How very stable. 

‘I can’t stop it from happening,’ Augus said. 

‘I know,’ Gwyn whispered. 

‘This. I can’t stop this. So I deal with it.’ 

‘I know,’ Gwyn said. 

‘What I’m trying to say is that I don’t need you to make this better. It will keep happening despite your best efforts. And on and on. Maybe forever, with this damned underworld poisoning.’

‘Of course,’ Gwyn said. ‘But you might also consider that I would sit next to you like this sometimes, on and on, maybe forever. I don’t need…Augus, I don’t need to _fix_ it. I want to- of course, but I have a little understanding of how these things work, don’t I? Would you not let me give you some of that unending patience that you’ve shown to me? I don’t mind if you cry for the next week, but-’

‘I’ll fucking mind,’ Augus spat. He sniffed loudly and then laughed, scrubbing at his eyes. ‘A _week?_ No thank you.’ 

‘You’re good company,’ Gwyn said, and Augus could hear the smile in his voice and even now - with his eyes aching, he rolled them. 

‘Honestly, like this? What’s _wrong_ with you?’ 

‘Well, you are,’ Gwyn said. ‘I happen to think I’m biased when it comes to you. But still, you’re quiet and not at all annoying. It’s almost nice, maybe you should do this more often.’ 

‘Oh, for the love of-’

And just like that, with a mock, bemused outrage flowing through him, he realised what Gwyn had done. Realised it as his eyes seemed to not be filmed over for the first time that day, as he paused in the middle of turning to push Gwyn in the side. 

‘I suppose you think you’re clever,’ Augus muttered. 

‘No,’ Gwyn said, but his lips quirked up. 

‘It’s not going to work every time.’ 

‘Augus, it wasn’t…a ploy,’ Gwyn said, laughing in that self-deprecating way he had. ‘All I did was sit next to you until you decided you were ready to talk. That’s all. Whether it was a day or an hour. That’s all it was.’  

Augus tipped into Gwyn’s side, and then turned into him until they were chest to chest, until Augus could press his face into the warmth of Gwyn’s armpit and hide there, frustrated and heartsore and thirsty. His legs curled up into Gwyn’s side.

Gwyn’s arms came around him and they felt like a shield, and Augus’ eyes burned again, and he made a sound of irritation. 

‘It’s also not _over,’_ Augus hissed, wiping his face off on Gwyn’s shirt and knowing it was useless. _Useless.  
_

‘That’s okay,’ Gwyn said, holding Augus a little tighter. ‘I don’t have anywhere more important to be.’

‘You’re the _King,’_ Augus said. 

‘I know,’ Gwyn said serenely. ‘It’s still true.’

So Augus resigned himself to it, the crunching, oozing pain of whatever was trying to dig itself up from his past. The relentless slow march of it through his body. And he felt Gwyn’s arms around him, let those be the anchor he’d use to find his way back to himself, when it was all over - at least, until the next time.


	8. Annoying Younger Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: 'Augus and Ash, one reading a book to the other.'

Ash rested his head on Augus’ thigh and poked at the book with his index finger over and over again. It moved the book just enough each time to be infuriating, Augus losing track of the tiny, archaic print. 

‘Read to me,’ Ash said. ‘Read to me.’ 

‘You won’t like it,’ Augus said, poking Ash’s side just as rhythmically and annoyingly as Ash was poking the book.

Ash stopped and then huffed, wriggling to get more comfortable. Then he yawned and stretched his arms up over his shoulders, letting his hands lie limp on the bed. Augus thought that was rather a good position for tickling, but he really wanted to get started on this book. He’d been avoiding it for a while. 

‘Read to me,’ Ash said. ‘Pretty please? With cherries on top?’ 

‘Yuck,’ Augus murmured. 

‘Pretty please with tiny dismembered humans on top?’ 

‘…On top of _what?’  
_

_‘_ The _sundae,’_ Ash said, as though it was obvious. ‘On top of the sundae.’

‘Yuck,’ Augus said again. 

‘I’m not making you a sundae _entirely_ out of tiny dismembered human bodies, that would be disgusting.’ 

‘Given how much you love to be _disgusting,_ that sounds entirely like you, actually.’ 

‘Ugh,’ Ash said and then laughed. ‘Read to me. Bro, bro, bro, _bro, bro, hey bro, hey bro, hey Augus, Augus, Augus, Au-’_

‘Do shut up,’ Augus said, pulling on Ash’s hair and then tugging on his ear, sighing in capitulation. ‘I warned you.’ 

‘Yay!’ 

‘Are you _four?’  
_

_‘_ Is that the beginning of the book?’ 

Augus muttered something deeply unflattering under his breath and looked over the tiny print, taking a deep breath: 

‘‘The North East Botanical Province covers only fifteen percent of the forest of Aur, but contains more species of tree than the rest of the Province. Little has changed in the basic landform structures for the last forty five million years, the area underlain by a huge granite shield known as the Peremrtek Craton, making it the oldest and least changed terrestrial land in an Aur province since-’

‘Oh Jesus,’ Ash said quietly, ‘you weren’t kidding.’

‘Be quiet. You had fair warning.’

‘What even is a Craton? Is that like a crater?’

‘No,’ Augus said quietly, ‘it’s a stable region of lithospheric topography.’  

‘Wow,’ Ash said, matching Augus’ tone. ‘Sometimes I think I know shit, and then you talk about something, and I realise I don’t.’

‘To be fair to you, brother, I’m sure you know a great deal more about beer than I do.’ 

‘It’s got hops in it,’ Ash said cheerfully. 

‘Yes, see? A vast treasury of information just waiting to spill forth.’ 

Ash laughed and fluttered his fingers from behind the back of the book, so all Augus saw was a hand waving at him. He poked the fingers, and then moved his hand away when Ash went to pet him in return. 

‘You know a lot of things,’ Augus said, marking his spot in the book with his thumb. ‘An awful lot. You like people to think you don’t. You play it down. You always have.’

‘Yeah,’ Ash said. ‘I mean okay I know shit-all about lithospheric topography, but yeah.’

‘You like people to underestimate you. See, there are different ways predators behave. Some - like me - prefer to put their best foot forwards and have others realise that I am a _threat_ as soon as possible. You like people to lower their guard around you, so you appear _unthreatening._ I’ve seen you with those fae in the night gardens, pretending you’re nothing more than a young gallivanting soul.’ 

‘I _am_ a young gallivanting soul.’

‘That too,’ Augus said, smiling. ‘Does it bother you for me to talk about this?’ 

‘Nah,’ Ash said. ‘I know _you_ know. And Gulvi too. I know I give you shit about what you read, but…I find it fascinating really. I don’t remember all of it, but I still remember you reading to me about orchids like centuries ago. And I remember random crap, like the blue hilatwa orchid weeps a sap that can be collected for…shit…oh yeah, that’s right, collected for sealing up wounds and dispelling infection.’ 

Augus paused, blinking. He wasn’t even sure _he_ remembered that. 

‘So, uh, will you read to me?’ Ash said. ‘Pretty please? Because I kind of…I like it. I’ll stop giving you shit about it for the next twenty minutes, I promise.’ 

‘All right,’ Augus said, smiling to himself. ‘But I have to warn you, this is dry material even for _me.’  
_

_‘_ That’s okay,’ Ash said, and Augus could hear the smile in his voice. ‘The company is kinda perfect.’


	9. Holding Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is pretty much the title. :D

i. 

Gwyn often slid his hand into Augus’, between the thumb and the index finger, as opposed to covering it, swamping it with his own hand. Which would have been easy enough for him to do.

Instead, Augus looked ahead bemused as he felt those fingers and that calloused palm slide against his palm. It was times like those that Augus couldn’t help but wondering how much Gwyn’s height and breadth worked against him, how he felt about himself.

Augus did the best job he could, covering Gwyn’s hand with his own, controlling the contact and dominating the grip. Deciding when and how their fingers would lace together. When he’d simply squeeze Gwyn’s palm or slide his fingers back and squeeze his wrist, listening for the little intake of breath just, yes, right _there.  
_

_*_

ii.

Gwyn grabbed Augus’ hand with command. Gripped the knuckles and fingers tight and dragged him across the stones of the Court, and Augus followed wincing and trying to tug his hand free - he’d have a better chance trying to remove it from beneath a stone pillar.

Gwyn breathing in excitement, _pulling_ him, clearly too overwhelmed to even speak. It wasn’t often that he got like this. But it hurt Augus’ hand. Gwyn was stronger than him, and he had strength both granted to him by status, and worked for with training. Augus doubted Gwyn grabbed his swords so roughly. 

Then Gwyn was saying ‘shhh, shhh’ under his breath. 

Slowing down, creeping towards the throne room, like there was something in there he couldn’t quiet believe. So Augus went quiet, and he realised that Gwyn was sweating all over his hand. 

_‘Look,’_ Gwyn whispered. 

So Augus peered past him, his hand still clenched in Gwyn’s, and saw a huge, gold-red bird standing tall in the throne room, peering about regally. From its blue-crimson tail coiled smoke, and its eyes glowed like embers. Its great chest heaved with gilded feathers as it breathed, and Gwyn next to him; holding his breath.

That was how Augus learned that Gwyn was thoroughly enchanted by firebirds.

*

iii

Sometimes when they fell asleep side by side, Gwyn stretched out his arm and waited. Augus would keep reading, and Gwyn would often slip into sleep before him. But still, his arm stretched out underneath the covers, fingertips brushing Augus’ hip or thigh or side. 

And so Augus would think constantly about it. That small touch. How trusting it was. And inevitably he’d put his book down and curl on his side, facing Gwyn, sliding his fingers over Gwyn’s and marvelling at the constant radiating warmth of him.

And Gwyn, almost always, would make a sleep-soft murmur of contentment. A sound that Augus had never heard him make while awake.

*

iv

Rarely, it would happen quite deliberately.

They’d be at Augus’ lake, usually - and aboveground. 

Wending their way through the woods by Gwyn’s cabin, and Gwyn would clear his throat and then trace his fingers along Augus’ forearm. Asking permission. 

If Augus didn’t respond, Gwyn would let his arm drop and they’d keep walking. But if Augus turned his arm, if he brushed his fingers against Gwyn’s, their hands would slot together. Their palms would brush and fingertips would press against fingertips in tiny kissing touches. Then fingers would slide between fingers, and Augus would feel like he was cradling Gwyn’s hand, even as Gwyn cradled his.

‘I used to dream of this,’ Gwyn said once. 

And Augus would squeeze his hand gently, and Gwyn would squeeze back. 

It didn’t matter if Gwyn still couldn’t say the words. Augus heard them frequently enough in Gwyn’s touch.


End file.
